It’s been raining for days.
I’ve been waiting for the writing bug to bite, and it hasn’t. The past few weeks, I’ve even stuck my hand in it’s mouth, but to no avail. Then I started feeling the gnaw, which I can only assume is happening because the sun is finally presenting its shiny face. And I’m hoping there’s something to be said for being closer to Erma Bombeck than to Dr. Spock.
I laid the baby down for a nap and decided to shower, put some make up on, and light my writing candle. (No, seriously, I have a writing candle. Don’t judge me.) And because I was feeling particularly froggy, I decided to use the VS So Sexy shampoo and conditioner, and shave my legs. I’m not kidding, I was ready to feel clean, peaceful, and creative. Then the baby squealed, which is DECIDEDLY not what I wanted him to be doing. And if that weren’t enough, upon entering his room I was slapped in the face with the righteous smell of baby shit. It was at this point it time I realized that I am not on the Martha Stewart, Jennifer Garner or Gwen Stefani motherhood train. In fact, if they are on a train, I’m on a bike in the next town. I’m so far off of the maternal perfection map, you could program me into your navigational system, and it’d dump you at a 7-11 about 30 miles from here.
The whole time I was showering, lighting my candle, and changing the baby’s diaper, thoughts of a beautifully written Mothers’ day blog were dancing in my head. I wanted it to be a mixture of thanks, love and support that made tears come to eyes and heads nod in understanding. I wanted a solemn letter of gratitude that gave those who read it a feeling of calm and togetherness. I wanted it to simultaneously tell my best friends that they (and their Veteran being, swine-flu hating, coffee and cigarette addicted asses) are rock out mothers (and believe you me, stepmothers are mothers), my family for being such awesome peeps. I wanted it to cheer on the single mothers, cheer on the married mothers, cheer on the married mothers with a spouse deployed. I wanted it to give props to the good dads, the awesome aunts and uncles, and the super duper grandparents. I wanted it to give a shout to the great, understanding, knowledgeable, and effing hilarious women I have met through blogging. And most of all, I wanted to thank my father, the single Daddy, for being the best Daddy my brother and I could have asked for.
I wanted this letter to do all of those things. And maybe I’m asking too damn much of my exhausted brain, my candle, and my cup of coffee. I’d love to have the time to sit here for hours and create the beautiful work I was sure everyone was going to love the sentiment of.
But I have a cheerio stuck to my cheek and the Baby Einstein DVD has run out.